


Dysfunctional Family

by Cat2000



Series: SpankVent 2019 [2]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Gen, Some descriptions of a man suffering from delusions and other psychiatric problems, Some references to suicidal thoughts, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the movie Joker, or DC, and I'm not making any money from this ficSpoiler-free summary: A dysfunctional family can still operate as a familySummary: Ten years after the events of Joker, Bruce uncovers some of his father's dark secrets and discovers maybe Arthur wasn't crazy
Series: SpankVent 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562569
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Dysfunctional Family

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Spanking; major spoilers for the movie Joker; minor spoilers for the DC cinematic universe; violence; AU; some descriptions of a man suffering from delusions and other psychiatric problems; some suicidal hints
> 
> Author's Note: This idea hit me when I first saw the movie. I hope you enjoy!

Giggles filled the room as Arthur rocked forward, his eyes watering. He no longer tried to hold back the laughter. He no longer tried to hold back or hide anything. He laughed on the outside and it didn't matter how he truly felt on the inside, because _everything_ was funny right now, if you looked at it the right way.

There were people in the rooms on either side of him. He hadn't seen them, but he could hear them. One let out a scream periodically, while the other wailed in loud sobs. The noise didn't bother him. He'd heard far worse, after all.

Right on cue, another loud scream came from his right and Arthur laughed louder. Harder. Until it sounded like he was screaming as well. His eyes watered and he rocked backwards and forwards, arms wrapped around his own body.

It didn't take long for the laughing fit to die down; but then again, he wasn't fighting himself any longer. His life was a lie, after all. A tragic comedy. Now that he'd accepted that, his life had become so much easier. And he might be locked up in Arkham Asylum once more, but they could do nothing to his mind. And he had no doubts he would eventually be able to escape.

Footsteps sounded outside his cell and Arthur stared hard at the door. His arms were strapped against his sides by the straitjacket he wore. If any of the doctors came in, he wouldn't be able to defend himself. Not that they saw themselves as sadistic torturers. They still believed they were helping him and the others here at Arkham Asylum. It was almost enough to make him start giggling again. Almost.

The footsteps paused outside the door, showing more hesitation than the doctors usually did. Arthur watched the door, idly wondering if the hesitation meant it was an orderly. Maybe even a new doctor. He felt a grin spread across his face, stretching his cheeks wide. No giggles escaped, but he was happy. _Very_ happy.

The man who pushed open the door and walked into his cell was familiar, but it was a nagging sense of recognition. He pushed the door closed behind him and then, taking a deep breath, turned fully to face Arthur.

The younger man's face was drawn. Haunted. Dark circles under his eyes that made it clear he hadn't been sleeping well. Sunken cheekbones and a thin frame indicated he didn't take care of himself; perhaps hadn't in months.

Arthur felt the first bubbles of laughter threaten to escape, but for the first time, the first time since he'd been placed in Arkham Asylum again, he held them back. For the first time, he was facing something that he didn't find funny. Like a light shining through to illuminate darkness. Something was different. Something had changed.

“You're not a doctor.” His own voice sounded alien to his ears. It was calm. Almost conversational. Like they were sitting down for a beer together, rather than patient and...visitor? Researcher? Journalist? Somehow, none of those labels quite fit.

The other man raised his eyes to meet Arthur's. “You don't remember me.”

“Seen a lot of people.” Arthur's grin stretched his mouth again. “Been a lot of places. Can't really be expected to remember every single one. Can I?”

“You're my brother.”

Arthur flinched. He couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up, as tears filled his eyes. He didn't let them fall. When he could finally talk, he said flatly, “I'm not sure who told you that, Bruce Wayne, but we're not brothers. My mom was delusional. Assumed a relationship where there wasn't one.” It still stung so much that he'd got it all wrong. That his brain had turned on him. How could he trust the evidence of his eyes now? “You're not real,” he informed the younger man.

Bruce stepped closer to Arthur and held a small medicine bottle out to him. “Your medication.”

Arthur looked pointedly down at the straitjacket he was wearing and then up at Bruce. “Even if I believe you're not a hallucination and that I'm not delusional, I'm not going to take some random pills. If I wanted to kill myself, I have many ways of doing that. Even stuck here.”

Bruce turned the bottle slowly in his hand. “It's still sealed. I get that you have no reason to trust me, to trust _anyone_ , but I have no reason to lie to you.”

“ _Everyone_ has a reason to lie. No one is truly honest. We all wear masks. We all hide who we truly are.” Arthur spoke in a singsong voice and he grinned widely at the younger man. “No point in sticking around someone so broken, kid. We're on opposite sides in this world.” He tried to shrug, but the straitjacket made that movement impossible.

“We don't need to be.” Bruce took a step closer to him. “You reached out to my dad. I...I know he told you that you weren't his son. Weren't my brother. As soon as I got old enough, I started looking into it. Your history. My father's history.” He swallowed, but stood straighter and taller. “I learned the truth. Not only about our biological connection, but also about the murder.” He paused. “There were security cameras that were buried by the corrupt officers.”

Arthur flinched, trying not to focus too much on those images. That memory. Not that he regretted what he'd done, but it was daunting to remember the event that had set everything off. He shook his head and laughed, but it was a fake, hollow sound. “Then I really don't understand what you're doing here.”

“I'm sorry.”

Those two words were the last thing Arthur wanted to hear. They meant he had to second guess himself. He looked away, refusing to keep eye contact with the younger man. “What are you apologising for?” He kept his voice light. Almost conversational. “Unless you feel bad for the huge divide between my kind and your kind.”

Bruce looked down at the medicine bottle in his hand and then raised his eyes to Arthur's face. He took a long, slow breath and set his jaw firmly. “You were failed by society. By our father. I want to bring you home.”

“Home?” Arthur choked out a laugh. “To _your_ home? So that we can play happy families? No thanks, kid. I tried that once. And you must know how that went. I lost control. A lot of people got hurt. A lot of people died.” Because of him. And thinking back on it, his stomach twisted. There was no laughter. No humour in it. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “If you're real, you need to leave. Leave me here to rot. You're better off alone, kid.”

Bruce didn't speak, but Arthur heard his footsteps. Instead of walking away, though, like he'd expected, he felt the straitjacket loosen from around him. It slipped away from his shoulders and he opened his eyes to stare into Bruce's, which were only about an inch from his own. “We don't look like brothers.” He didn't expect a response; was really just talking to fill up the time.

The medicine bottle was held in front of his eyes and Arthur stared at it before reaching out and taking the bottle from the younger man. He turned it over in his hands, staring down at it. “What are you expecting to happen here? I'm not a healthy man. Even if the meds work, I could slip easily.”

“I've got a big mansion.” Bruce sat down cross-legged in front of him. “I think it'll be the best place for you. And you deserve to be there.” He hesitated. “I'm training. I'm going to make things right in this city. I know there are lots of wounds that need to be healed, but if I can make a stand, maybe other people will follow on behind.”

Arthur stared down at the bottle of meds, rubbing his thumb over the label. “ _You're_ going to make a stand?” He looked at Bruce, taking in, once again, the thin, unhealthy appearance. Was this truly real? Maybe it wasn't Bruce he was looking at. His mind had already betrayed him once. “You're not real.”

“I was able to get hold of your mother's files,” Bruce said. “It's true she was suffering from disorders, which you might well have inherited, but it's also true that our father had an affair with her. He paid off doctors to keep it quiet.”

“How do I know you're not just a hallucination telling me things I want to hear?”

“I don't know if anything other than time will convince you of that,” Bruce admitted. “But if I _am_ a hallucination, why would I pick now to show up? Why wouldn't I have appeared to you before now?”

It made sense. Even if it was his own brain playing tricks on him, it made sense.

He pulled the lid off the bottle and tipped it over his palm, tapping it until two capsules landed on his hand. Not second-guessing himself, he tipped the capsules into his mouth and swallowed them.

It wasn't instant, but gradually, everything took on a sharper hue. Colours became more pronounced. Pins and needles filled his entire body. He'd spent so long in that haze, it had become normal for him. Coming back to himself was like waking up from a nightmare. A nightmare where he'd been the one to hold the knife and the blood on his hands.

“It's not going to be easy,” Bruce said quietly. “The medication isn't an easy fix. It's what you need right now, but mental illness isn't just going to go away. I want you to come home with me and I'm prepared to hire the therapists you need. Work on getting you, perhaps not perfect, but as close as it's possible to be.”

Arthur blinked at Bruce. At his little brother, if Bruce's words were to be believed. “You're talking like you want to fix me.” Moisture filled his eyes. “They've been trying for years. I was locked up in here before. Did you know that? With all of the crazies. That's what I am, kid. I'm one of the crazies. And if you had any sense, you'd run as far away from me as possible. Leave me behind, kid. If you don't, all that'll happen is you get hurt. Again.”

Bruce sat back on his heels, holding eye contact with Arthur. “I'm going to help you. I'm going to bring you home with me.”

“ _You're_ going to help _me_?” The laugh that escaped was bitter; so harsh, it hurt his throat. “Kid, you're not sleeping. Eating. You're rake thin. Dark circles under your eyes. Look like you're doing drugs. You're talking about taking care of me. Who's taking care of you?”

Bruce paused and then glanced away. “Alfred raised me since...since they died,” he admitted.

“And he's allowed you to get away with not sleeping, or eating? Not taking care of yourself?” The pins and needles made standing difficult, but Arthur managed it. He took two steps towards Bruce, towards his little brother, who was looking up at him with trust and hope and belief so strong, it nearly brought Arthur to his knees once more.

Swallowing, Bruce climbed to his feet and met Arthur's gaze. “He doesn't like it, but he hasn't tried to stop me. No one's tried to stop me.”

There was no clear plan Arthur had in mind. He couldn't have said what drove his decision, or what triggered it. He reached out and closed his hand around Bruce's wrist, pulling him forward and off-balance. Wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist, he angled him to one side and delivered a resounding smack that echoed through the room.

Bruce jumped and yanked out of Arthur's grip with wide eyes. “You can't do that!” he sputtered.

“I think you'll find that I just did.” Arthur stared into the younger man's eyes. “You made the decision to come and bring me back. To look after me. I'm returning the favour. Come here.”

“So you can swat me again?”

“So I can turn my little brother over my knee and swat his bare butt for not taking care of himself.” Arthur didn't move; didn't advance on Bruce or step back. “You wanted a big brother, kid. Don't pull away just cause your big brother plans to hold you accountable for not taking care of yourself.”

Bruce looked down and scuffed his foot along the floor; just like the child he'd been when Arthur had met him for the first time. Shoulders drooping, he stepped over to Arthur's side, not looking up from his shoes.

As soon as his brother was within arm's reach, Arthur reached out and grasped Bruce's arm. He sat down on the floor and pulled the younger man across his lap.

The second smack echoed just as loudly as the first and Arthur paused, glancing towards the door. When it didn't open and he didn't hear any footsteps outside, he delivered another pair of smacks and then continued down to Bruce's thighs, wrapping his arm around the younger man's waist.

Bruce began to squirm when Arthur began to smack steadily from the crest of his backside once more, letting out a tiny whine. “Why are you doing this?” he burst out.

“Because you came to me. Because you're not taking care of yourself. Because you need someone to hold you accountable. And I guess that someone is me.” He punctuated every other word with a smack.

“ _You_ need _me_!” Bruce protested, tears in his voice.

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted, starting a new round of swats. “But I know you need me just as much, kid.”

Bruce continued to squirm frantically and then threw his hand back over his bottom. “You don't need to do this!” he protested, his voice strained.

“I think it's clear I do need to. That you do need me to.” Arthur began to focus more swats to Bruce's sit spots and thighs, causing the younger man to jerk his legs. “And if you continue to harm yourself, this spanking won't be a one-time thing. Only next time? It'll be without the protection of your pants.”

“I want to save Gotham.” Bruce muttered the words to the floor. “For all of the citizens. Not just the rich. It's corrupted. Like a diseased wound that needs the infection to be cut out. It doesn't matter what you do, I'm going to save it.”

“I'm not telling you not to. But if saving Gotham means you harming yourself, that's when I'll step in,” Arthur promised. “You came for me. And maybe you haven't saved me completely yet, but it's possible. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. And in return, I'm going to keep you alive. Keep you safe. Keep you healthy. Keep my little brother healthy.”

At those words, Bruce slumped over Arthur's lap and began to sob.

Arthur stopped spanking and rubbed the younger man's back for a moment and then helped Bruce to stand, wrapping his arms around his brother. It didn't feel entirely natural, but he wanted to give some measure of comfort.

Bruce's tears didn't last for long before he was sniffling and pulling back from Arthur, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and giving a watery smile. “Home now?”

“Yeah.” Arthur took Bruce's offered hand and let his brother lead him outside, deciding not to question the ease with which his younger brother was taking him out of Arkham Asylum.

There were times Gotham's corruption could work in their favour.

**The End**


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